Midnight's Daughter
Page 33

“Radu has . . . unusual taste,” Louis-Cesare agreed, sitting on the edge of the fountain. I realized I wasn’t the only one relegated to borrowed attire, although he’d definitely gotten the better of the bargain. A cascade of lace spilled down the front of his antique shirt, and buttery leather pants hugged better legs than any vampire deserved. To go with it, he had a nice peach complexion, the darkest I’d seen on him yet, and his hair was back to its usual shiny abundance. The lamplight from the house filtered through the trees overhead, dappling it with gold.
Not for the first time, I envied vamps their recuperative powers. He still looked a little worn around the edges, more the warrior than the fashion plate, but he’d be right as rain by morning. I doubted I’d be so lucky. I slumped on the side of the fountain, struggling with the fact that I’d gotten winded chasing a baby Duergar. Changing clothes suddenly seemed like way too much trouble, at least without that drink first.
“Where’d you get the wine?” I asked as Louis-Cesare passed me a glass. It turned out to be a dark, fruity red, Radu’s own label.
“It was meant for dinner; I found it on the butler’s tray.”
“So Geoffrey actually did me a favor?” The wine hit my empty stomach hard, but I didn’t care. Occasionally my weird metabolism actually comes in handy. “Will wonders never cease?”
“He is yours to command.”
“Who? Geoffrey?” He nodded and I laughed. “Sure he is.”
“You are Lord Mircea’s daughter.”
“And the stain on the family honor,” I reminded him.
“Like a good butler, Geoffrey prefers things tidy.”
“He has threatened you?” Louis-Cesare sounded surprisingly grim, considering that he’d done the same himself not too long ago.
“Everyone threatens me; it’s not important.”
“You deserve his respect!”
“For what? Being the boss’ little girl?” I waved my glass, sloshing some wine over the side. It looked strangely like blood in the dark. “’Fraid that’s outweighed by the whole killing-off-his-kind thing.”
“I have seen you kill no one who did not deserve it. And you handle your . . . disability . . . admirably.” He stopped, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I did not think a dhampir capable of such compassion.”
I stared. By God. A compliment. From Louis-Cesare. That wine was just going right to his head.
And then, of course, he ruined it. “I am glad you have come to your senses about Lord Radu.”
“Come to my senses?”
“To help protect him. It is the only intelligent way to proceed.”
“How exactly is letting Drac run free intelligent?” I demanded.
Louis-Cesare’s eyes narrowed. “He will be caught eventually. It is only a matter of time with the forces the Senate currently has in the field.”
“Except they aren’t gunning for him.”
“He has shown a lack of judgment in the past, a reputation borne out by his current alliance. He cannot help but run foul of the Senate before long.”
“That’s one theory.” And not one I shared. People had been underestimating Drac for centuries. He might be crazy, but he had the Basarab cunning and was utterly ruthless about how he used it. Not a good combo. “But then, you gotta wonder why, if the Senate can deal with him, Mircea went to the trouble of drafting us.”
“He hopes to end this before his brother spills more innocent blood.”
“And you don’t care about that?”
“Radu’s blood is also innocent!” I thought that was debatable, but didn’t say so. Louis-Cesare looked like he was getting a little heated again. So much for having a pleasant, low-key conversation.
“Why do you care so much what happens to Radu?” I asked, knowing I’d probably regret it. “Didn’t he abandon you?”
“He is also my sire!”
“And Mircea is mine. It’s never bought him a lot of slack, actually.”
Louis-Cesare gave me a condescending look. “Has it not? You are here now, in answer to his call—”
“Because of Claire!”
“—as you should be. You would not exist but for him, as I would have died centuries ago if not for Radu. We have a debt to the family.”
A little wind was playing fitfully through the trees, tossing the leaves about, but when I looked upward, I could see the stars in patches. I took a deep breath of cool night air and told myself not to overreact. “You’re confusing me with a vamp,” I said shortly. “Just because Mircea donated some sperm doesn’t mean I’m bound to him.”
“There are other ties than magic. Loyalty, obligation, love—”
“I do not love Mircea!”
“And whether you acknowledge them or not, you feel them, too. You belong by his side when he needs you.”
What I felt was a burst of anger, hot and fierce. Damn him for stirring to life that old, bitter craving, the one that wove itself around the word belong. I’d never belonged anywhere. It was the first lesson I’d ever learned, drummed into my bones and ripped into my flesh long before the infant that would become Louis-Cesare was even born. And it was the one I made sure I never forgot.
“You’ll see how much love I have for the family,” I told him savagely, “when I plant a stake in Drac’s cold, dead heart.”
“You still intend to go after him,” he asked incredulously, “even though it could mean your friend’s life?”
“He’ll come after us. I thought that was the plan.”
“Using Lord Radu as bait was your plan!”
“Which he currently is,” I pointed out.
“Dracula will never try to reach him through such defenses! I did not understand until I saw them for myself, but it is true. He is as safe here as at MAGIC.”
I didn’t feel like debating it. There were no defenses good enough to keep out Drac if he wanted in, but convincing Louis-Cesare of that would be counterproductive. And even if I felt like trying, I doubted I was up to it. Even my anger had sputtered out against the overwhelming tide of exhaustion. I stared at a flickering firefly in the grass, feeling oddly dislocated. “Whatever.”
Louis-Cesare said something else, but it sounded very far away, like he was speaking underwater. I was so tired my eyes didn’t want to focus, to the point that the firefly’s path blurred into a long, continuous neon line. And then it happened again. It was like drowning, sinking helplessly down into dark, frozen depths. But instead of water, I was floundering in a sea of memory.
I realized that the drumming sound I was hearing wasn’t my heart, but someone beating on a door. It took a moment to realize it was me. The door opened to reveal a pissed-off female vamp in a diaphanous white negligee: Augusta, a Senate member. Her outfit stayed white until I lurched into her, soaking the front of the expensive nightwear in enough blood to indicate a mortal wound. I looked down to find that I was wearing only a man’s long overcoat that was gaping open in front. Under that was a lot of blood and what looked to be half of my intestines, which I was keeping inside by pressure from the hand that hadn’t been needed for beating down the door.
“My back,” I whispered.
“I’ll fetch a doctor,” Augusta said faintly. She looked hungry, but I didn’t care. At that moment, she couldn’t have done much more damage. She dragged me over to a big bed and tried to get me to lie down.
I shook my head. “My back,” I repeated.
“I know. Don’t worry—I won’t put any pressure on your stomach.”
“No!” I was trembling with the effort of standing up, but I couldn’t lie down. “Look at my back. It’s a message, for Mircea.” The vamp had been paying so much attention to my ruined stomach that she hadn’t even noticed that the back of my coat was completely drenched, and not by water.
I was trying to get the coat off, but couldn’t manage with only one hand. Augusta helped, then stopped when it was half off to stare in shock. I could see what she saw in the mirror of a small rosewood dressing table, not that I needed the reminder. Someone had carved letters into my flesh, although the blood, part dried and part fresh, blurred them, making them impossible to read.
“Get Mircea,” I whispered, kneeling on the floor, gripping the bedpost to stay partially upright. I heard her leave the room, shouting, and for a small woman she had a surprisingly strong voice.
What seemed like only a few seconds later, Mircea came in, shaking black snow off his greatcoat. He smelled of coal dust, horses and cheap perfume. He knelt by my side. “What happened?”
“You sent me to find your brother,” I gasped, fighting to stay conscious. “Unfortunately, I succeeded.”
Mircea began peeling the coat the rest of the way off. His expression was carefully blank, but his eyes were amber fire. Another vamp entered the room, carrying a basin and a towel. “Master,” he said, bowing to Augusta but managing not to spill the water. “I would like to clean up the girl.”
Augusta gave a bark of laughter. “I’m sure you would.”
“I was an orderly in South Africa, master. I survived the Zulu War; I know something about knife wounds.”
That wasn’t the only way he knew about them. Jack was Augusta’s current pet—and he’d been a monster even before she’d turned him. He stupidly offered Mircea the basin. One savage movement later, both it and Jack went flying against the wall. Jack hit hard enough that his body actually left an impression, tearing away the wallpaper to show the bricks underneath.
He didn’t get to his feet, but cowered on the floor where he’d fallen, hands on his head, not daring to look up. He’d have seemed almost pitiful if I’d had any emotion to spare. I didn’t, and it looked like Mircea felt the same. “Do it,” I told him. “You have to.”
Mircea’s hand smoothed my hair gently. Then he snapped his fingers and Jack reached out a trembling hand to retrieve the basin. He crawled with it to the door and was gone. Faster than I would have believed possible, he was back, with more water and several towels. He also carried a bottle of whiskey, but no glasses.